A Game of Music
by imagine.life.sweeter
Summary: Sam & Freddie came up with a simple game: share a story with each song. It was a proposal that will take them into a crazy musical - and secret - friendship. So what happens next? ON BREAK.
1. Let's play a little game

**I'm crazy, I know. I can barely manage my two stories that I have right now, yet I'm starting a third. But you love me for it, don't you? (Please don't answer that!) I had this idea in tech class today and had to start it right away, as in NOW. So here we go!**

***

I opened the door to Carly's apartment and slammed it shut. There was the culprit, lying on the couch eating fried bacon. And listening to our PearPod. Yeah, that's right: _our _PearPod. When Locker 239 got destroyed by sed culprit's eye surgery likened mother, Principle Franklin gave it to us, saying "You each have one. Think of it as a Pear and your spare."

Yet she was listening to it all alone on the Shay's couch, bobbing her head to the beat.

"Hey." I tried, clapping my hands to get her attention. Nothing.

"Hey!" I tried a little louder. Still nothing. I strode over to the couch and ripped the ear buds out of her lobes. She punched me in the stomach. "What was that for, Benson?" she spit out, trying to grab the PearPod back from me. I held it above her face. "This is _ours_, as in we share it. And I haven't seen it since _we_ got it," I shout, emphasising the sharing part of the musical device. She rolls off the couch and straightens out her lemon slice printed shirt. She holds her hands up in innocence.

"Fine. Take it Freddie," Sam laughs. "I really don't care. Tell Carly I'll see her later, kay?" I nod. "Sure. Thanks, Sam."

"Don't think I'm gonna be polite all the time. Just maybe this once," she says as she lingers by the door, her signature plaid backpack slung over one shoulder. I smile.

"I wouldn't want it any other way, Puckett." She shrugs and bounds down the hallway, leaving me alone with my Peppy Cola and the PearPod. I open up it's case. It's one of those super-fancy ones that keeps the player on one side, and the other side has a spot to tuck your headphones and an identification card. Where our phone numbers should be, there's a note.

_Hey Freddica_, it says in Sam's loopy, messy script, _I thought we could do something with this thing. There's only one song on here; I added it. We'll pass it back and forth, adding one new song each time. Here's the catch: you've gotta share a story with each song. You know, like why you chose it or just something I don't know about you (and vice versa). So here's my first one: I chose this song 'cause me and Melanie used to dance around singing it with our mom (before she started dating that creepy plastic surgeon. You remember him, right?) when I was maybe ten or eleven. I don't know why, but I always liked it. It lifts my mood. - Sam._ I'm about to turn on the only song on the playlist when I notice there's a little arrow pointing to flip over to the back.

_By the way, no one has to know about our little game :) I'll know if you do._

I smile as I walk back over to my apartment. My mom is baking apples with caramel in the over for dessert, but I brush past her and back to my room. I flop down on my bed and turn up the volume.

**I know what boys like, I know what guys want. I know what boys like, I've got what boys like. I know what boys like, I know what guys want. I seen them looking . . . I make them want me, I like to tease them. They want to touch me, I never let them.**Well, the beginning sure sounds a lot like Sam. She doesn't like to let people get close to her.

**I know what boys like, I know what guys want. I know what boys like. Boys like, boys like me. But you you're special (I might let you).You're so much different (I might let you). Ooohh would you like that? (I might let you).** I'm a little taken aback by the next verse. So Sam actually lets me around . . . because she thinks I'm different? Or am I just totally reading into this and Sam just likes this song? Her mind is so very complicated.

**I know what boys like, I know what guys want. I know what boys like, I know what's on their minds. I know what boys like, I know what guys want. They talk about me. I got my cat moves, that so upsets them: zippers and buttons, fun to frustrate them. They get so angry like pouty children, denied their candy. I laugh right at them. I know what boys like, I know what guys want. I know what boys like. Boys like, boys like me. Nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah nah. I see you're sad now (I will let you). Sorry I teased you (I will let you). This time I mean it (I will let you). Anything you want (You can trust me). I really want to (You can trust me). How would you like it? (You can trust me). SUCKER! Hmhmhm . . . I know what boys like, I got what guys want. I know what boys like. Boys like, boys like me. Nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah nah. **I smile as the song fades out. I can just imagine a younger Sam dancing around her family's cute little stone house by the water. It's nice to have a little insight into Sam's world.

I sit down in my wheelie chair and slide across the room to my desk as I restart the song. I want to pick a new song to give to Sam tomorrow, and I know which one is perfect.

***

**I hope you liked it! Stay tuned for more & please add this to your alerts!**

**xo, Chantal**


	2. You like eighties music, too?

**My toes are as tired as hell. Just came from a three hour pointe class and was partnered with the _cutest_ guy named Dustin. He's really sweet, nice, and has really great hair, so I had to do another song as soon as possible :)**

***

"Think quick!" I hear Freddie shout from behind me. I intstinctively stick my hands out and catch the PearPod he threw at me. A smile curls onto my lips before I can stop it from forming. I stick it in my pocket and gave him a wink just as Carly appears. "Ready for French?" she asks, tucking a lock of her perfect hair behind her ear.

I slam my locker shut with an eye roll. "Peut-etre, mademoiselle. Je ne sais pas," I say. **[A/N: that's pronounced "Puh-tet-truh, mad-ehm-mo-sell. Je ne say pah."]** French is a class that I actually pay attention in half the time. For some odd reason I can't explain, I like it. I even do the homework for Madame Walsh's class; she might be the only teacher who doesn't hate my guts.

"Okay, okay. I get it, you're ready," she laughs. "See you later Freddie!" He waves as he walks off towards Advanced English Lit. What a nerd. Carly and I discuss ideas for the next iCarly as we make our way through the crowds of obnoxious students who think they're so cool.

"I know!" I laugh as we sit down at our desks smack dab in the middle of the classroom. "We dress Gibby up as a hobo and send him out to try and scare real hobos by throwing rotting clemetines at them!" Carly lightly hits my shoulder. "SAM! We don't put friends at the risk of being _eaten_ by hobos!" she exclaims under her breath as Madame writes out some exercises on the board. I flip open my cahier and livre **[A/N: cahier = notebook, livre = book]** and start conjugating. I'm finished in eighty seconds flat and then pull the PearPod out. It's too tempting to wait and see what song - and story - Freddie left for me.

_So, Miss Puckett, you like to entertain yourself with games,_ his neatly written note says, _I didn't know you liekd eighties music . . . I do too. So here's something you don't know about me: I do kickboxing. (If you haven't tried it, you might want to. It's a lot of fun.) I listen to this song while I'm in my zone because it's upbeat and fun. Your turn, Freddie._ I'm surprised by Freddie's secret. Is that how he finally got muscles? His little hobby actually does sound . . . fun. Maybe I'll take him up on the offer.

I carefully lace the earbud cords through my sweatshirt and stick one in. Sure enough, Freddie's song is there next to mine. I press play.

**They told him don't you ever come around here. Don't wanna see your face, you better disappear. The fire's in their eyes and their words are really clear. So beat it, just beat it. You better run, you better do what you can. Don't wanna see no blood, don't be a macho man. You wanna be tough, better do what you can. So beat it, but you wanna be bad. Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or right. Just beat it, beat it. Just beat it, beat it. Just beat it, beat it. Just beat it, beat it.** I can't help but giggle to myself. Freddie likes MJ? That's something I could totally beat up for. Maybe.

**They're out to get you, better leave while you can. Don't wanna be a boy, you wanna be a man. You wanna stay alive, better do what you can. So beat it, just beat it. You have to show them that you're really not scared. You're playin' with your life, this ain't no truth or dare. They'll kick you, then they beat you, then they'll tell you it's fair. So beat it, but you wanna be bad. Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or right. Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or right. **The next part of the song is really catchy. In fact, I think I need to add this song to my playlist on my own PearPod.

**Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or right. Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it. Beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or who's right. Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or right. Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or right. Just beat it, beat it. Beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or who's right. Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or right. Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or right. Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it, no one wants to be defeated. Just beat it, beat it. Beat it, beat it, beat it. **I'm bobbing my head to the beat when a voice interrupts my groove at the end of the song.

"Mademoiselle Puckett? Would you please put your answers up on the board?" Madame Walsh says, pointing an orange whiteboard marker at me. I reluctantly stand up. "Oui, Madame." I grab my notebook and walk to the front of the room.

***

**Okay so happy early Valentine's Day! Be my valentine and review. Or you could send me roses :)**

**xo, Chantal**


	3. She's like a butterfly

**Hey there. Long time no update, eh? Over a month . . . my bad. Life at school gets super-hectic. Now that the term ballet's over, everyone's focusing on the choreography competition (including me). **

***

After an evening of pizza, gummy worms, and sappy romcoms with Sam and Carly, I was _so_ ready to go home. The new issue of _Tech Weekly _just came in the mail, so I could sit out on the fire escape with a cup of coffee and read it for a while. Oh wait - global project! I'm about to get up to go when Carly stops me. "Where are you going, Freddie?" she asks, holding up another DVD. "We were just about to start _Markus & Alana_!"

"Yeah. Another hundred and twenty one minutes of fate, anguish, and true love," Sam smirks, twirling a lock of her messy blonde hair.

I shrug. "Some of us have homework," I point out. "Remember, Miss Ellis assigned us, like, the biggest project on Islam. Ever." So what if I'm stretching the truth a little? No guy wants to admit to spending a Saturday night watching a movie about a waitress and screen writer.

Carly smiles at me. "Okay, I guess you have a point. You'll be over at four for rehearsal, right?"

"Totally." I reach for my backpack, but it's not where I left it. I look up and right at Sam. "Where'd you put it?" She smiles and bites her lip evilly. She sits up and adjusts her lemon-printed shirt. "Try the bathroom." I roll my eyes and retrieve it from in the shower. By the time I'm back in the Shay's living room, the opening sequence is playing.

"Bye guys," I say, hand on the door.

"See ya, Fredalupe!" Sam calls, saluting me with a wink. I cross the hallway and let myself into my apartment. My mom is sitting on the couch, biting her nails nervously. She bounces up when she sees me and pulls me tight. "I was so worried," she murmurs. I squirm away.

"Mom. It's eight thirty."

"No boy should be out past eight."

"I'm sixteen."

"But-"

"I'm gonna go to my room," I say, "to work on my global history homework. Wake me up if I'm not up by nine tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Of course." And just like that, I'm free to do what I want for the rest of my night. I quickly shower and pull on my Galaxy Wars pajama pants. I reach inside my bag for my black binder, but the PearPod is on top. I pull out the blue paper Sam's tucked inside to read. _Hey Freddie. One thing before I write my story: when can I try kickboxing with you? It sounds like a lot of fun. Not that I'd admit to anyone else but you that I think something you would do is fun. So don't tell anyone. Anyway, onto my story. I, uh, listen to this song whenever I get a letter from my dad. He tells me all the time about how great Chicago is and how I can come to visit him anytime, but honestly Freddie . . . he disappoints me. So much. It's sometimes is worse than a broken heart, 'cause you know your dad is supposed to love you and be there for you but mine isn't. Disappointment is something that's an everyday occurrence in my life. I guess one thing I can count on is the fact that this song reminds me I deserve better. You and Carly prove to me that I'm worth something, too. xo, Sam. _I find myself surprised at the honesty in Sam's note. I pop the earbud in, scroll through the list, and press play.

**So the story goes on down a less traveled road. It's a variation on the one I was told. And although it's not the same, it's awful close. In an ordinary fairy tale land, there's a promise of a perfect happy end. And I imagine having just short of that, is better than nothing. So you'll be my forever and almost always. And I'll be fine, just love me when you can. And I'll wait patiently, I'll wake up everyday, just hoping that you still care. In the corner of my mind, I know too well. Oh, that surely even I deserve the best. But instead of leaving, I just put the issue to bed, and out of my head. Oh and just when I believe, you've changed for good, well you go and prove me wrong just like I knew you would. When I've run out of second chances, you give me that look, and you're off the hook. Because you're my forever and almost always. And I'll be fine, just love me when you can. And I'll wait patiently, I'll wake up everyday, just hoping that, you still care. What am I still doing here? It's all becoming so clear. You'll be my forever and almost always. It ain't right to just love me when you can. I won't wait patiently, or wake up everyday, just hoping that you'll still care. Forever and almost always. No it ain't right to just love me when you can, baby. Ain't gonna wait patiently, I won't wake up everyday, just hoping that you still care.**

"Ain't gonna wait patiently, I won't wake up everyday just hoping that you still care," I repeat to myself. Sam's a real person. She deserves better than the crappy family she has, even if she acts like she doesn't care at all. And that song and story just proved that she's not made of steel. She's like a butterfly - beautiful, complicated, and fragile.

***

**I normally don't tell you guys the songs, but this is my new favorite. It's called "Forever and Almost Always" and I'm using it for my choreography piece. Listen to it. It's very gorg.**

**xo, Chantal**


	4. The best apology a girl can give

**Hi everyone. I hope y'all still remember my name (beeteadubs, it's Chantal) since it's been so long. But honestly, writing has been the farthest thing from my mind.**

**As many of you know, I'm studying dance (my focus is modern pointe) at a boarding school across the pond in England. My family, friends, and TV shows are all mainly based in New York. But with my choreography competition coming up, alongside my finals, term papers, and a new boyfriend (hi, Greg!), I think you can imagine how busy my life is. I simply have had no time to sleep, let alone long on the FF and write for three stories. It's depressing to watch my FF folder in my email grow and grow with stories I need to catch up on and semi-threats as to why I haven't added chapters in two months.**

**Please don't kill me. Legit.**

**As soon as I'm home for the summer, on June 27th, I swear on my life that I will begin reupdating. Most likely, I'll rotate on a schedule between Out of the Lab, iThink I Might Love You, and A Game of Music - whatever it will be, I'll try my best to stick with it. Just hang on until then.**

**Thanks for being so understanding. I'd hate to lose my readership. I love you guys :)**

**xo, Chantal**


	5. We're both in the same dad department

**Hello, everybody! Chantal & her large stack of musical ideas are here with another chapter for you. Now, before I begin, I have a request for you guys: actually *listen* to the songs in these chapters. Although reading the lyrics is usually sufficient (I like a song with a story) the music, the tone always adds to it and makes it truly beautiful.**

"Oh my god, that was so much fun," I say breathlessly as Freddie and I walk out of Schnider's Gym. I had just gone to his kickboxing class, and man, was it a rush! I don't remember a time when I had enjoyed myself doing exercise. Normally, I'm too lazy to get off my ass and try anything.

"I thought you'd like it." Freddie smiles at me as we make our way down the street,

"Okay, just because you were right about this does not make you cool, Benson," I quip, adjusting my exercise tank's straps.

"Whatever." The two of us turn the corner and walk into the Groozy Smoothie. We place our orders - medium Banana & Strawberry for Freddie, large Vanilla Blueberry for me - and sit down at a high-top table in the corner. T-Bo gets our smoothie to us quickly (one of the advantages of being a loyal customer). He starts to walk away and then turns back around.

"Hey, either of you two wanna buy a doughnut?" he asks, revealing his signature stick with chocolate glazed doughnuts laced down the middle. I look to Freddie for a moment and shrug.

"Sure, why not." I pluck one off the stick, and Freddie follows my lead. T-Bo walks away for real, obviously pleased with himself.

"What on earth drives him to sell food off of a stick?" Freddie asks, taking a bite of his doughnut. "Oooh, this is good."

"I dunno. Maybe he had a traumatic experience with sticks in his childhood?" I suggest. He laughs. We spend the next hour making up different stories as to why T-Bo could be obsessed with sticks and food, about the old man sitting in the corner eating his muffin like a cat, about the history assignment I actually did. I'm amazed at how easily Freddie and I get along when I'm not trying to torture him and he's not getting back at me for all the things I've done to him. It's weird and somewhat comforting at the same time.

Suddenly, Freddie stands up. "I better get going. My mom will be wondering where I am." I look at my watch. It's already six o'clock.

"Yeah, I probably should get going too," I say, dropping my cup into the trash. Freddie hands me the PearPod.

"Here."

"Thanks." We walk out the door and go in opposite directions: Freddie towards the Brickview, me towards the bus station. The bus arrives quickly and I get a spot near the back of the bus, right where I like it. I open the PearPod and scroll to the new song. Before I open it, I read Freddie's note. _Hey Sam. Since you told me about your dad, I guess I'll tell you about mine. When I was little, he got cancer. Brain cancer. He died when I was seven. That's when my mom & I moved to Seattle, so we could be closer to my grandparents. This song was his favorite. I miss him a lot. We're sort of in a similar boat in the dad-department, aren't we? - Freddie._

I press play.

**Me and all my friends, we're all misunderstood. They say we stand for nothing and there's no way we ever could. Now we see everything that's going wrong with the world and those who lead it. We just feel like we don't have the means to rise above and beat it. So we keep waiting, waiting on the world to change. We keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change. It's hard to beat the system when we're standing at a distance. So we keep waiting, waiting on the world to change. Now if we had the power to bring our neighbors home from war. They would have never missed a Christmas, no more ribbons on their door. And when you trust your television what you get is what you got; cause when they own the information, oh they can bend it all they want. That's why we're waiting, waiting on the world to change. We keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change. It's not that we don't care, we just know that the fight ain't fair. So we keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change. And we're still waiting, waiting on the world to change. We keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change. One day our generation is gonna rule the population. So we keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change. We keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change.**

I smile at the familiar song. It's a favorite of mine, too. I feel like I understand Freddie a little better. We're both in the same dad-department, after all.

**I hope you guys liked this chapter! I would write more, but I'm attending a six-hour workshop today on musical interpretation in hip-hop. It starts at ten, so I must be going!**

**xo, Chantal**


	6. Small round orbs of yumminess

**Hola, everybody! This is my last update before vacation . . . I'm leaving for Hawaii for a week, starting tomorrow! I'm so excited, I've never been to Hawaii and I *know* it's going to be awesome. So you guys get an awesome chapter before we go.**

"Aaand we're clear! Great show you guys," I say, putting my camera down on the cart. Carly flips her hair and giggles, walking over to stand behind me.

"When do we _not_ do a good show?" she asks. "Hey, how many viewers did we get?" I pull up the stats page and scroll through it. Wow, that's a lot. More than we've had in a long time on the show. I think the last time we hit this number was when Principal Franklin willing came out of a pair of giant pants.

Carly points to the screen. "That's our viewership?"

"Yeah, seven hundred and fifty-eight thousand viewers on the nose," I say, elaborating so Sam doesn't have to get up off her bean bag chair. She does anyway. "Holy chiz, that's awesome!" she exclaims, running over to see for herself. She and Carly hug each other and jump up and down screaming. Girls. You can like 'em, but never understand 'em (no matter how hard you try to).

Just then, Spencer walks into the studio, carrying a watergun in one hand and a crate of clementines in the other. He's whistling to himself, but pauses when he sees the lovefest Carly and Sam are having. He motions for me to come closer to him.

"Why are they celebrating?" he whispers, glancing around as he does so.

"Because we brought in seven hundred and fifty-eight thousand viewers on tonight's show," I whisper back, "It's our best viewership ever." Spencer nods like her understands.

"Do you wanna throw clementines at them?" he adds, looking over at the screaming in the corner, holding hands and doing a little happy dance. I nod.

"Please." He carefully tears the red mesh netting off the top of the crate. He hands me a few and then screams "FIRE!" The pair of us begin pelting the girls with the small round orbs of yumminess, who promptly begin to scream and yell at us. Sam gets and idea and begins to throw them back at Spencer and me. Carly catches on. Sooner than you can imagine, the floor looks like it has a lumpy orange colored carpet.

"What was that for?" Carly asks, throwing her hands up in the air. Spencer shrugs.

"You two have your own way of celebrating," he says, pointing a piece of the crate at Sam and Carly, "and Freddie and I celebrate by throwing clementines at you and then suggesting we go to Pink Bunny and get the biggest size sundaes they offer."

"The Rabid Rabbit?" Sam exclaims, a gleam in her eyes. Oh dear.

"YES!" Spencer cries, pressing the elevator button, "Now, come!"

I open the door to my apartment with my key, to find my mother frantically cleaning our kitchen countertops. She has seven different bottles of cleaning solution (four are antibacterical, one is forgein), three sponges, and two empty paper towel rolls cluttering the floor.

"What _are_ you doing Mom?" I ask, dumping my keys in the bowl next to the door. She runs over to hug me.

"I missed you and got worried," she says. "Are you hurt?"

"Mom, I'm fine. I told you I was going to Pink Bunny and would be back by ten," I say, trying to escape her grip.

"Yes, I know. But it's ten oh three!"

"I'm going to bed Mom."

"Freddie!" I couldn't hear any more of her shouts because I closed my bedroom door. I toss my coat on my wheelie chair, but notice a lump in the pocket. The PearPod is inside it. How Sam managed to put that in there, while eating three Rabid Rabbits is beyond me. I find the note and read it. _So Freddie, was there ever a habit you had as a kid that you couldn't loose? Mine is watching Disney movies. The classics, not that crap they put out in the theaters these days. So I picked this song because it's grown on me as the years went on. It's got a nice message to it. I just love it. xo, Sam._

I'm about to put on her song when I see there's an arrow pointing to the back. _Do you like seeing music live?_

Hmm. I wonder why she asked. I press play.

**You think I'm an ignorant savageand you've been so many places. I guess it must be so. But still I cannot see if the savage one is me, how can there be so much that you don't know? You don't know . . . you think you own whatever land you land on. The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim. But I know every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name. You think the only people who are people are the people who look and think like you. But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger, you'll learn things you never knew you never knew. Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned? Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains? Can you paint with all the colors of the wind? Can you paint with all the colors of the wind? Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest. Come taste the sunsweet berries of the Earth. Come roll in all the riches all around you and for once, never wonder what they're rainstorm and the river are my brothers, the heron and the otter are my friends. And we are all connected to each other in a circle, in a hoop that never ends. How high will the sycamore grow? If you cut it down, then you'll never know. And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon. For whether we are white or copper skinned, we need to sing with all the voices of the mountains. We need to paint with all the colors of the wind. You can own the Earth and still all you'll own is Earth until you can paint with all the colors of the wind. **

I lie down on my bed, the play still playing on repeat. I guess all these years, I overlooked this song. It's actually very pretty. I guess sometimes, in my life, I got too used to things that I didn't look for beauty where I didn't think it belonged. I needed a different perspective every now and then.

I never thought I'd ever say this, but thank God for Sam.

**I'll keep you guys occupied while I'm away: what was I drinking while writing this? The winner will get to name an OC in one of the chapters! So review with your responses and I'll write you guys next week.**

**xo, Chantal**


	7. We're all cool kids

**As we speak, I am surrounded by an avalanche of clothes. I am supposed to be packing to go back to school and, considering my flight is Friday, shouldn't be writing. But I am anyways . . . 'cause I love you guys!**

"So do you guys think I could get away with wearing this to school?" Carly asks me, twirling around in her new skinny-strapped tank top and turquoise skinny jeans. I look her up and down, and then to her smiling face.

"As adorable and as cool as you look in it, you'd never get past Spencer. Or Mr. Howard, he monitors the hallways like a dumbass hawk," I say, rummaging around in my bag for my camera, "But it would make a great profile pic for you on SplashFace." I dig deeper, tossing aside my bag of emergency meat and my makeup bag. Ahh, there it is. Right next to . . . the PearPod? When did Freddie even give that to me? Sneaky boy.

Carly strikes a pose for me and I snap the picture. "I'll send it to you tonight, okay?" I say, now slightly distracted. I really want to see what song Freddie picked out. It might have started off as a stupid game, but now it's really fun and rather interesting. He's opened my eyes to a few different bands.

"Hey, you okay?" Carly asks, slipping her sweater back on. "You seem a bit off all of a sudden." I wave her off and toss my camera back into my bag. "I'm fine," I say, reassuring her. You wanna go grab a smoothie?" Carly shakes her head.

"I promised Spencer I'd make dinner tonight. Do you want to come?"

"What are you making?"

"Rosemary lamb chops, garlic smashed potatoes, and rolls. Oh, and maybe a salad if we have all the stuff."

"Momma's in." We walk out into the main room of the Shay's house. While Carly gets to work making our meal, I stop to read Freddie's note and listen to the song. _Hey Sam. I picked this song because . . . well, actually, I don't know. I just like it. Is that weird? It has a fun beat & isn't so standard pop but still is pop. Oh, and I like music live. Why? - Freddie_

**If I could write you a song ****to make you fall in love, ****I would already have you up under my arm. ****I used to pull all my tricks, ****I hope that you like this. ****But you probably won't, ****you think you're cooler than me. You got designer shades, just to hide your face, and you wear them around like you're cooler than me. And you never say hey, or remember my name. It's probably 'cause you think you're cooler than me. You got your hot crowd, shoes on your feet, and you wear them around like they ain't shit. But you don't know the way that you look when your steps make that much noise. See I got you all figured out, you need everyone's eyes just to feel seen. Girl, you're so vain, you probably think that this song is about you. Don't you? Don't you? If I could write you a song to make you fall in love, I would already have you up under my arm. I used to pull all my tricks, I hope that you like this. But you probably won't, you think you're cooler than me. you got designer shades just to hide your face. And you wear them around like you're cooler than me. And you never say hey, or remember my name. It's probably 'cause you think you're cooler than me. You got your hot crowd, switching your walk, and you don't even look when you pass by. But you don't know the way that you look when your steps make that much noise. And don't you dare act like you don't know, know what's up, 'cause your nose is up. I'm approaching up. Like I can't give you winter in the summer, or summer in the winter, Miami in December. Trying to look bored in them Dior's, she probably is, was acting shallow 'til she found out how deep that my pockets is. Mrs. Primadonna, this is your reminder, that I think you're fine, but I'm finer. 'Cause it sure seems ('Cause it sure seems) You got no doubt (That you got no doubt) But we all see (We all see) You got your head in the clouds (Clouds) If I could write you a song to make you fall in love, I would already have you up under my arm. I used to pull all my tricks, I hope that you like this. But you probably won't, you think you're cooler than me. You got designer shades, just to hide your face, and you wear them around like you're cooler than me. And you never say hey, or remember my name. It's probably 'cause you think you're cooler than me. **

I recongize the song from the radio station my mom sometimes plays in the car. It's a good one. Before I have time to really reflect on the song, Carly interrupts me and asks if I want to run across the street for a bottle of Peppy Cola.

"Yeah, sure Carls. No problem."

**I hope you liked it! And you're all really cool. Probably cooler than me :)**

**xo, Chantal**


	8. Flames are to blame for fires

**Grrr . . . my sister recorded iSam's Mom to send to me, but she is *so* not awake yet & it's already past noon here. I wanna see it, reaaaaally badly. So I must work on my FFs until I get it.**

"Freddie, could please set the table?" my mom shouts. I put down my copy of _Tech Weekly_ and walk out to our dining room. My mom is so obsessive about having a perfectly set table; it can take up to fifteen minutes to set it "the Benson-approved" way.

I lay out the spoons, and forks, and knives, and cloth napkins, and plates, and soup bowls, and the candles before I call to her that it's ready. She peeks her head out of the kitchen. She shakes her head.

"Wrong candles! Those one require matches, and flames are to blame for fires!" she says, walking out with the soup pot. I carefully switch them out to the electric ones. Some people ask me why I do these things; I just do them to make my mom happy.

When we're finally seated and have said grace, there's a knock at the door. I go to open it and find nothing there but the PearPod that Sam and I share. I look around, but Sam is nowhere to be seen. Strange.

"Who was at the door, Freddie?" my mom asks. I look down at the music player in my hands. There's a note on top. _Freddie, listen to the song. Then meet me at 22 Pell Street at ten. Don't think, just do. - Sam_

"No one. No one was there," I say. "Actually, I'm not hungry. I'm going back to my room." I run in and lock the door before she can stop me. I can hear her muttering something about how high school has taken away her little boy's manners. It's probably true, but whatever. I press play.

**Elphie, now that we're friends, I've decided to make you my new project! ****You really don't have to do that. ****I know; that's what makes me so nice! ****Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I, ****and let's face it, who isn't less fortunate than I? ****My tender heart tends to start to bleed. ****And when someone needs a makeover, ****I simply have to take over! ****I know - I know - exactly what they need! ****And even in your case, ****though it's the toughest case I've yet to face. ****Don't worry, I'm determined to succeed! ****Follow my lead, ****and yes indeed, you will be... ****POPULAR! You're gonna be popular! ****I'll teach you the propper ploys ****when you talk to boys, ****little ways to flirt and flounce, ooh! ****I'll show you what shoes to wear! ****How to fix your hair! ****Everthing that really counts to be... ****POPULAR! I'll help you be popular! ****You'll hang with the right cohorts, ****you'll be good at sports, ****know the slang you've got to know. ****So let's start ****'cause you've got an awfully long way to go! ****Don't be offended by my frank analysis, ****think of it as personality dialysis. ****Now that I've chosen to become a ****pal, a sister and advisor, ****there's nobody wiser! ****Not when it comes to... ****POPULAR! I know about popular. ****And with an assist from me, ****to be who you'll be, ****instead of dreary who you were...uh, are. ****There's nothing that can stop you ****from becoming popular... lar... ****La la, la la! ****We're gonna make you pop-u-lar! ****When I see depressing creatures, ****with unprepossessing features, ****I remind them on their own behalf ****to - think - of ****celebrated heads of state, ****or specially great communicators! ****Did they have brains or knowledge? ****Don't make me laugh! ****They were POPULAR! - ****Please! - it's all about popular. ****It's not about aptitude, ****it's the way you're viewed, ****so it's very shrewd to be, ****very very popular like ME! ****Why, miss Elphaba, look at you. you're beautiful! ****I have to go... ****You're welcome... ****And though you protest, ****your disinterest, ****I know clandestinly. ****You're gonna' grin and bear it! ****You're new found popularity! ****Ah! ****La la, la la! ****You'll be popular! ****Just not quite as popular as ME! **

I take a quick moment to download a new song onto the PearPod. I know which one I want, so it doesn't take more than a moment. I look around my room.

This could turn out really badly.

But for once, I listen to Sam. I don't think, just jump out onto the fire escape and do something I've never done before: sneak out.

**So what is at 22 Pell Street? You're just gonna have to wait & see!**

**xo, Chantal**


	9. Welcome to my world

**Yikes . . . this chapter is long overdue. It's been almost a month since I updated! School just gets so crazy, you know? Anyways, let's get back 22 Pell Street . . . what *is* there?**

I pace up and down the pavement number twenty two, my new brown leather boots clicking and clacking against the pavement. Freddie should be here right now. What's taking him so long, anyways? He lives, like, ten minutes away.

Rodney laughs at me. "Girl, no boy is worth getting this worked up over!" He crosses his arms and leans up against the door frame. I roll my eyes and adjust my beret.

"I'm not worked up over him. He's just a friend who also like music."

"You keep telling yourself that," he says, taking tickets from a couple of giggly girls who have appeared out of nowhere. They're laughing like crazy about some stupid SplashFace video and reapplying lip gloss like a bunch of . . . giggly girls. Rodney wiggles his eyebrows at me and mouths "Turn around." Before I can, I feel a pair of hands grab my waist and twirl me around.

I let out a shriek before I can help myself. (For the record, Sam Puckett never shrieks.) I whip my head around when my feet hit the ground again.

"Fuck, Freddie, you scared me!" I say, clutching my heart. But I can't help but smile, though, because he _came_. He came, even though he knows his mom will freak out the moment she knows he's gone. He came, even though he'll have to take a tick bath and get an antibacterial wipe-down when he gets home. He came, even though it was just me - his self-proclaimed enemy - who asked him to come.

Why on earth is my heart beating so fast?

"Can you tell me why I'm at this random address at ten o'clock at night?" he asks, messing around with his bangs. I doubt he ever really brushes them; they just seem to fall so perfectly. What am I saying?

I punch him in the arm. "Just follow me, Benson," I say, then climb back up the steps, where Rodney looks rather amused.

"Freddie, meet Rodney. Rodney, this is Freddie." Introductions are bad enough, but with Rodney thinking I'm in love with Freddie (gag) it's going to be a little more difficult.

He slips off his shades. "I hear about you a lot, Freddie Benson. Puckett likes torturing you, doesn't she?" he mutters, holding the door open for us.

Freddie seems taken aback. "Yeah, I guess she does," he laughs. Then he pauses and turns to me. "Where are we and how often do you come here?" he asks as we walk down the somewhat shady, dark hallway.

"Fine, I'll tell you. We're here anyway," I say with a smug smile. "We're at the Pell Street Music Club and yes, I come here pretty often. They've got great acts that come here and my favorite cover band is playing tonight. They're called Neon Blush, Freddichinni." I grab his arm and weave through the crowd to my favorite table, which all the regulars know is mine. It's the perfect distance between the stage, the order station/bar, and the powder room.

Blake, the best server in the whole club, waves to me from behind the bar. "Whattup, Puckett?" he shouts over the electronica beats coming through the speakers at the moment.

"Not much!" I shout back, sitting down at our table and motioning for Freddie to do the same. "Hey, get me two of my usual, okay?" He nods at turns to another customer. I see that Freddie has this weird smile on his face. "What is it, Benson?"

"Nothing. It's just . . . you really have this whole music scene under your belt, don't you?"

"It's just my space. You know, I fit in here better than I fit in at home or at school." Why am I spilling what is pretty much my darkest secret to Freddie? We're never friends; then again, we're not really mortal enemies anymore, either. I wonder where that puts us.

Just then, Blake comes over with two of my regular order: hot wings (Level Ten sauce, baby) with a basket of fries and a Shirley Temple. "Dig in, guys," he says. "This one's on the house." I jump up and give him a kiss on the cheek. He really _is_ the best server in the whole place.

"Blake, you're the best," I say, sitting back down.

"I know." As he walks away, he turns back around. "Who's your boyfriend?" he asks. Before I can correct him - Freddie will _not_ be known as my boyfriend, not ever - Freddie leans over his table and sticks his hand out.

"I'm Freddie."

"Blake. Nice to meet you, Freddie." Blake walks away, and I punch Freddie in the arm again when he sits down.

"OW! What was that for?" he asks, rubbing his bruised arm. I twirl a fry around in the ketchup on my plate.

"Doesn't matter. Besides, the band is starting," I say, pointing to the stage. I start feeling a little giddy, the way I do before I start an iCarly episode or when I know what I'm doing isn't illegal. This band is one of the best that come to PSMC; they have a lot of talent and cover good songs that I know, for the most part. They have one, if somewhat crude and crappy, CD (which I own and is autographed, thank you very much) that all the regulars listen to on repeat in their cars, because we just _do_.

"Hi everyone, I'm Luke and we are Neon Blush," says the frontman into the mike. The whole room bursts into applause. "Thank you, thank you. Now tonight, we're gonna start with a song that we haven't done before. Hope you guys like it." I smile as the song starts. I know this one.

**I need another story, something to get off my chest. My life gets kind of boring, need something that I can confess. 'Til all my sleeves are stained red from all the truth that I've said. Come by it honestly, I swear.****Thought you saw me wink, no. I've been on the brink, so tell me what you want to hear, something that'll like those ears. Sick of all the insincere, so I'm gonna give all my secrets away. This time, don't need another perfect lie. Don't care if critics never jump in line. I'm gonna give all my secrets away. My God, amazing how we got this far. It's like were chasing all those stars. Who's driving shiny big black cars? And everyday I see the news, all the problems we could solve. And when a situation rises, just write it into an album. Singing straight to cold. I don't really like my flow, no, so tell me what you want to hear, something that'll like those ears. Sick of all the insincere, so I'm gonna give all my secrets away. This time, don't need another perfect lie. Don't care if critics never jump in line. I'm gonna give all my secrets away. Got no reason, got no shame. Got no family I can blame. Just don't let me disappear. I'mma tell you everything. So tell me what you want to hear, something that'll like those ears. Sick of all the insincere, so I'm gonna give all my secrets away. This time, don't need another perfect lie. Don't care if critics never jump in line. I'm gonna give all my secrets away. So tell me what you want to hear, something that'll like those ears. Sick of all the insincere, so I'm gonna give all my secrets away. This time, don't need another perfect lie. Don't care if critics never jump in line. I'm gonna give all my secrets away. All my secrets away.**

I look over to Freddie and smile when the song ends. I think my heart might still have some secrets of its own, and damn, I better figure them out soon.

**I hope you guys liked it! If you didn't, please keep that to yourself 3**

**xo, Chantal**


	10. A change in heart

**Gahh, this chapter is so long overdue it isn't even funny. I've been in nonstop rehearsals for the holiday ballet, no joke. I didn't even go home for Thanksgiving, which felt really weird. But never mind that. Chapter. Now. Thanks!**

**Have I ever posted a disclaimer on this story? I'm not sure I have. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own iCarly. But I do own Rodney, Blake, and the Pell Street Music Club (PSMC), and tonight's deejay.**

"Pass the ketchup," I say to Sam, taking a sip from my soda. She dutifully hands it over and I squirt it over my fries. We're sitting atour usual table in the PSMC, tucking in for karaoke night. They host it the first Saturday of every month. Sam says that they're really funny, because no one is ever any good.

Blake scoots by and grabs our empty glasses. "Refills, you two?" he asks. We nod. "Thanks, Blake," says Sam, flashing him a peace sign. Her oversized white sweater slips off one shoulder as she smiles at him. Does she like him? Because Blake, with his bleach-tipped hair and cocky half-smile, is definetely a nub. Maybe king of the nubs. So not right for her.

Sam slaps me on the arm. "They're starting!" she whispers excitedly. "The first person is always the wrost because they're nervous." I watch as the first girl takes to the stage. She sings a shaky version of Ginger Fox's "Number One." Sam's right: they are bad here. Several more people go, singing karaoke classics that no one can ever get right, like All Star and Jailhouse Rock. (Oh, Elvis. What _were_ you thinking?) Blake reappears with our drinks.

"What about you, Puckett? Are you going to sing again?" he asks, setting the glasses down on the table. I nearly choke on my BLT.

"Sing? Sam sang?" I say, trying not to laugh. She doesn't seem like the singing type. She's more of the "I'm going to kick your ass" type. And the latter is better. It's one of the things I love about her. Love? No no, I meant like. I think.

Blake nods. "Yeah. Sam can bring down the house," he says, winking at her. Ugh. I want to gag.

"I wouldn't go as far as to say I bring down the house . . ." she laughs. "But yeah, I do sing. Sometimes." She blushes, and then Blake walks away. I turn to her and grin.

"Sing."

"No!"

"C'mon, you know you want to," I nag.

"No, Freddie, I only sing when I want to."

"You know you want to . . ." I trail off, leaving her to think about it. After a moment, she stands up and smiles.

"Fine. I'll sing," she says, crossing her arms and smirking. "But under one condition."

"What is it?" I ask.

"Duet. You and me."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam must be out of her mind, or she's had too much meat and it's affecting her brain. So either way, she's really out of her mind.

"Dead serious. Come on," she says, tugging on my hand and dragging me to the sign up. She flicks through the binder and stops on one specific song. "This one," she says, stabbing the CD. "We're doing this one. Trust me, it will be great." I shrug. I don't even want to do this.

She hands the CD to the deejay, who promises to put us at the top of the list. Apparently, Sam's singing is very popular here at the PSMC. A mere five minutes later, we're onstage with microphones. "Hey hey hey, we've got a fan favorite here. Tonight Sam Puckett's singing with her pal, Freddie Benson. They're doing an old classic, Don't Go Breaking My Heart!" The crowd cheers as the opening notes play out. **[A/N: Freddie is the bold, Sam is italics, and together they're bolded italics]**

**Don't go breaking my heart. **_I couldn't if I tried. _**Honey, if I get restless. **_Baby, you're not that kind. _**Don't go breaking my heart. **_You take the weight off me._** Honey, when you knock on my door. **_I gave you my key. _**_Nobody knows it. _****When I was down. **_I was your clown. _**_Nobody knows it. _**_Right from the start, __I gave you my heart. _**_I gave you my heart._ So don't go breaking my heart. **_I won't go breaking your heart. _**_Don't go breaking my heart. _And nobody told us. **_'Cause nobody showed us. _**And now it's up to us, babe. **_I think we can make it. _**So don't misunderstand me. **_You put the light in my life. _**You put the sparks to the flame. **_I've got your heart in my sights. _**_Nobody knows it. _When I was down. **_I was your clown. _**_Nobody knows it. _Right from the start. **_I gave you my heart. _**_I gave you my heart. _So don't go breaking my heart. **_I won't go breaking your heart. _**_Don't go breaking my heart. _**

When the song winds down, the crowd errupts into applause. I look over to Sam, who's smiling like crazy. She turns to me, and then surprises me by squealing, sticking her arms up into the air, and then giving me a rib-crushing hug. But it feels good. We actually sounded good together.

"Hey hey hey, let's give it up for Sam and Freddie!" the deejay shouts, and the crowd gets louder. I glance over at Sam. Though this night was not how I pictured it, I don't think I would have changed it either.

**I hope y'all liked this. Please review!**

**xo, Chantal**


	11. Problems just keep piling up

**Eeep! Almost a month since I updated, due to all my holiday ballet rehersals . . . I'm sorry. But I have two weeks at my family's vacation lodge in Connecticut before I have to go back to school. I think I can get a chapter or two in before then.**

Carly and I are lounging around in her room, listening to one of her crappy teen pop CDs while waiting for Freddie to come over so we can plan the next iCarly episode. Carly's working on her English homework. I should be, but I'm not. Instead, I'm browsing through some blogs on Carly's PearPad. (I'm a secret blog addict. Shh . . . don't tell!) I log onto one of my favorite ones, called _You Wish You Were Famous_. My eyes begin to bug out of my head as I read, and I clap my hand over my mouth to stop from screaming.

"Sam? Sam, are you okay?" Carly asks, noticing my now-white face. I quietly gather up my things and log off of Carly's web account after clearing the web history. I sling my bag over one shoulder and head for the door. "SAM! Where are you going?" she calls after me.

I turn around when I reach the staircase. "I have to talk to Freddie," I whisper. I jump and skip the actual stairs, then make a dash for the Shay's door to avoid Spencer. He says something about guavas and poodles, but I just ignore him.

My fist pounds on Freddie's door. "FREDDIE, YOU BETTER OPEN THIS DOOR THIS INSTANT! I HAVE SOMETHING REALLY IMPORTANT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT, AND IF I HAVE TO I WILL KICK THIS DO-" My screaming rage is interrupted by Mrs. Benson. I shove past her without a word and make my way to Freddie's room, locking the door behind me. I can hear the shower water running, and steam is billowing out from beneath the door.

"Hello?" comes a muffled voice.

"Freddie, it's me. We need to talk. Now," I say, sitting myself on his Galaxy Wars sheets. It's kind of cute how dorky they are. I bounce up and down on his bed, testing his mattress. It has a good bounce to it. Suddenly, the shower water stops. I hear some scrambling in the bathroom, and then the door swings open to reveal Freddie. And he's wearing only a towel around his waist. He looks mad.

"Dude, this better be good," he says, leaning against the door frame. He shakes some of the excess water from his hair. I try to remember what I came over to tell him. His six-pack, whose existence was never made known to me before, is really distracting.

"R-r-right." What's with the stuttering? Get a hold of yourself, Puckett! I stand up from his bed and cross the room to sit at his desk. "Listen, have you ever read the blog _You Wish You Were Famous_?" I ask him, typing in the web address. He shakes his head no and comes over to sit next to me. I can feel heat radiating off of his wet body. I bite my lip.

"Read this post," I say, nearly stabbing my finger into his screen. His eyes scan the article as I reread it myself.

_SEATTLE - Popular web show hosts Sam Puckett and Freddie Benson of the always-funny iCarly stunned at the Pell Street Music Club last Saturday night. The duo brought down the house with an amazing rendition of "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" at PSMC's monthly kareoke night, garnering a standing ovation from the crowd. But what most people were wondering was where was the third member of the iCarly trio, Carly Shay? To see the video and find out the rest of the story, watching Seattle Beat tonight at eight o'clock! Meow, Casey._

I look up at Freddie and twirl around in his swirly chair. "Isn't this awful?" I ask. His eyes dart across the screen uncertainly, as if he is trying to change what's written in the post.

"What I can believe is that some scumbag taped our performance and sold it to the news," he mutters. "Yeah, this is bad."

"Well . . . what's your master plan? What are we gonna do?" I ask, fingering my gold key necklace. I try to to stare at Freddie's abs, which are currently right in my face because he's standing and I'm sitting down. I stand myself up to try to clear my mind and perch on the edge of his desk.

"Why are you asking me?" he exclaims.

"You're the brains in this relationship!" I shout back. We both stare at each other in utter shock at what I just said. I open my mouth to correct myself when a knock comes from Freddie's bedroom door.

"FREDDIE BENSON, I KNEW I SHOULDN'T HAVE GIVEN YOU A LOCK FOR YOUR DOOR! THERE'S A BLONDE HEADED DEMON SOMEWHERE IN OUR HOUSE AND WE NEED TO FIND HER!" shrieks Mrs. Benson from the other side. He crosses the room and swings the door open. He puts his hands on his hips as she storms in. Her eyes bulge out of her head when she sees me.

"You . . . him . . . towel . . . hormones . . ." Mrs. Benson starts to stutter as he face turns red. Then she passes out on Freddie's floor, just adding to all of the problems my day has had. We both run to try and revive her, and then we hear a voice coming over the intercom. Carly's voice.

"HEY GUYS! GET OUT HERE! I JUST SAW SEATTLE BEAT AND YOU SURE AS HELL HAVE SOME EXPLAINING TO DO!" Freddie and I look at each other.

Oh shit.

**I hope this chapter makes up for all of the weeks I haven't updated . . . merry belated Christmas! Read + review, please.**

**xo, Chantal**


	12. What the hell

**Gosh, as soon as we get back to school, they throw choreography assignments at us like crazy! The song in this chapter is for my hip hop / pointe choreo. I really like it, and I also really like the character development that comes around in this chapter. I hope you guys like it, too!**

". . . and I can't believe you didn't tell me you two were frequenting a music club for nearly a month together without even inviting me once! ONCE! I thought we were friends, best friends. We do things together, don't we? I thought we were supposed to tell each other everything after the whole kiss incident!" Carly pauses in her rant. Her face is red from not taking a breath, and her eyes are still buldging out of her head. She's madder than I've seen her in a long time.

"Carly? Carly, can _we_ talk for a second?" Sam says, pointing between the two of us. Carly throws her hands up in the air. "Fine. Fine! What do I care? Another minute of being ignored won't do me any more harm!" she shrieks.

"God, Carly, chill," Sam mutters, twirling a lock of her hair. It's a habit she's picked up as of recently. "We just go there to blow off steam. Don't we, Freddie?" She wills me to go along with her big blue eyes. Gorgeous eyes, like two turquoise pools . . . what am I saying?

I nod. "It's true," I say mechanically. "My mom pissed me off and Sam said she knew a place where we could just chill and relax. No biggie." Carly seems to calm down a little bit; maybe our plan actually worked. Maybe we won't be killed with the knife that's stabbed into those chicken breasts on the kitchen table. Or those lemons chopped into little pieces. Or the baguette slices in the bowl. Come to think of it, the two of our limbs would fit easily into the fridge.

"Oh," Carly says. Now she looks flustered.

"What's the problem now?" Sam asks, exasperated.

"Imighthavedoensomethingbad."

"You might have done something bad! Like what?"

"Isaidwsfhlaneaadkje."

"You said WHAT?" Sam shrieks. Now she looks mad. How to girls make their voices go so high? I never could get mine to go that high, even before puberty.

"." After translating what Carly's said, I grab Sam's arms and hold her back. She's squirming in my arms. This is going to get really ugly, really fast, if I don't do something about it.

"Who did you promise?" I ask, still restraining Sam, only now I've got a hand over her mouth. She kept muttering that she was going to kill Carly. I think she saw the knife, too. Carly's eyes dart around the room.

"Seattle Beat."

"Oh god."

"I'm sorry!"

"Listen, Carly, Sam and I are going to have to think about this. I mean, this is huge."

"Yeah. Okay." I pick Sam up and carry her out into the hallway. Her eyes are wide and for the first time that I've been around, Sam looks scared. She backs away from me and then runs down the hallway. I go to enter my apartment and realize that there's something in my back pocket. It's the PearPod. I haven't seen it in a while. I take out the note that's in the front pocket. It's a gum wrapper. I open it up. The message is two words long.

_I'm in._

I scroll through the song list and discover that there's a new song. I have no clue when she put it on the playlist, but it seems like it was literally just added. I press play.

**You say that I'm messing with your head, all cause I was making out with your friend. Love hurts whether it's right or wrong. I can't stop cause I'm having too much fun. You're on your knees, begging please, stay with me. But honestly, I just need to be a little crazy. All my life I've been good, but now I'm thinking what the hell? All I want is to mess around, and I don't really care about if you love me, if you hate me. You can save me baby, baby. All my life I've been good, but now whoaaa . . . what the hell? So what if I go out on a million dates. You never call or listen to me anyway. I'd rather rage than sit around and wait all day. Don't get me wrong, I just need some time to play. You're on your knees, begging please, stay with me. But honestly, I just need to be a little crazy. All my life I've been good, but now I'm thinking what the hell? All I want is to mess around, and I don't really care about if you love me, if you hate me. You can save me baby, baby. All my life I've been good, but now whoaaa . . . what the hell? Lalalala la la. Whoa whoa. Lalalala la la. Whoa whoa. You say that I'm messing with your head. Boy, I like messing in your bed. Yeah, I am messing with your head when I'm messing with you in bed. All my life I've been good, but now I'm thinking what the hell? All I want is to mess around, and I don't really care about. All my life I've been good, but now I'm thinking what the hell? All I want is to mess around, and I don't really care about if you love me, if you hate me. You can save me baby, baby. All my life I've been good, but now whoaaa . . . what the hell? Lalalalalalalalalala. Lalalalalalalalala.**

I guess we're doing this.

This can't be good.

**I hope you guys liked this chapter! Lots of love.**

**xo, Chantal**


	13. He's a lord and she's a lady

**You guys will never guess where I'm writing from. Dramatic pause . . . ITALY! All of us year 10s are here in Rome for a week-long conference. So exciting, but really tiring. I'm writing this in a cafe across the street from the hotel where we're staying.**

"Sam? Sam. SAM!" Carly shouts, chasing me down the hallway with Freddie on her heels. We're in a big high-rise in downtown Seattle, about to meet with some of the producers of _Seattle Beat_. I'm sure Freddie's mom is having spasms because we're late. It's not my fault Miss Briggs yelled at me because I put rotten meat in the teacher's bathroom. Okay, maybe it is. But who cares, really? It's not like you can eat rotten meat. I would know; I've tried.

I stop short, causing a pile-up outside the door. "Listen, I just want to get this stupid meeting over with, okay?" I say, picking a stray hair off of the sheer sleeve of my new burgundy dress. Carly made me wear it. She said something about having to look professional, or something of that nature. I wasn't really listening.

"We all want this done quickly," Freddie mutters. He's just as unhappy about this whole performance thing as I am.

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" Carly shrieks, throwing her hands up in the air. Since her explosion last week, she must have said it three dozen times. She knows that we like the spotlight; we just don't like it this much. People keep calling our houses and trying to get quotes. All of the major blogs picked up the story after _Seattle Beat_ announced that Freddie and I would be performing, and then some photographers even showed up outside school, trying to get pictures of us until Principal Franklin called the cops on them. There haven't been anymore around there since.

"Just forget it," I say, pushing the door open. It's not a typical conference room like I was expecting. Instead, there's a sunken floor where the table and chairs are, three of the walls are made of glass, and there's a marble ledge with stairs down to the table all around the room. Way cooler than I thought it would be.

Mrs. Benson jumps up from her seat and envelopes Freddie into a hug. "Baby, I was so worried about you!" she shrieks, stroking his hair. Freddie squirms while Carly and I giggle. We step down and take seats at the table.

"Hello Carly, Sam, Freddie; I'm Oliver Scharr, head of publicity for _Seattle Beat_," says the man sitting at the head of the table. He smiles warmly at all of us. He seems kind of artsy and off-kilter. "I'm so glad you could make it here today. We've got a lot of details to figure out before the conce-"

"Um, were you going to say concert?" I say, nearly jumping out of my seat. "I thought we were just performing on _Seattle Beat_."

"Yes, yes, that was the original idea. But when the crew and I were tinkering around with the idea, we thought the Seattle Music Center would be much better," Oliver says. I think that I might faint. The Seattle Music Center is huge. I think there are nearly twenty-five thousand seats there; I saw She and Him play there once. Wow. Is it getting hotter in here? There are all these spots in front of my vision.

"Is that in a safe part of town?" asks Mrs. Benson.

"MOM!" Freddie exclaims. The he pauses. "How would this work?" Oliver explains the whole shibang: a live concert, simultaneously broadcasted on _Seattle Beat_ and _iCarly_, with the whole center filled up to the brim with fans. All of the coolest songs to cover, a few TV interviews, T-shirts with our names on them.

"Woah woah woah . . ." I murmur. Oliver stops.

"Excuse me?"

"_Sam and Freddie: Live from Seattle_ is going to look lame on T-shirts," I say. "No offense. If we're having a name, call us Lord + Lady."

"Lord + Lady?" Freddie says, trying not to smile. We discussed this earlier.

"It sounds classy."

"Lord + Lady . . ." Oliver muses over it. "I like it!" The rest of the team nods in agreement. "Now we just have to hear you sing."

"Sing?" I say in disbelief.

"Yeah, we wanna hear the chops in action, you know. Make sure the video isn't tinkered with," Oliver says, eyes to the floor. I know he knows the video wasn't tampered with, and he knows I know he knows the video isn't messed up. He just wants to hear us sing. The words to an old Britney Spears song come to mind instantly, so I just begin singing.

**Oh yeah. Oh yeah. I'm Miss American Dream since I was 17. Don't matter if I step on the scene or sneak away to the Philippines, they still gon' put pictures of my derrière in the magazine. You want a piece of me? You want a piece of me? I'm Miss Bad Media Karma; another day, another drama. Guess I can't see the harm in workin' and being a mama. And with a kid on my arm, I'm still an exceptional earner. You want a piece of me? I'm Mrs. Lifestyles Of The Rich & Famous. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Oh My God, That Britney's Shameless. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Extra, Extra, This Just In. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. She's Too Big, Now She's Too Thin. (You want a piece of me?) Oh yeah. Oh yeah. I'm Mrs. You Wanna Piece Of Me? Tryin' and pissin' me off, well get in line with the paparazzi who's flippin' me off? Hoping I'll resort to some havoc, end up settlin' in court. Now are you sure you want a piece of me? (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Most Likely To Get On The TV For Strippin' On The Streets. When gettin' the groceries, no, for real are you kiddin' me? No wonder there's panic in the industry. I mean, please, do you want a piece of me? I'm Mrs. Lifestyles Of The Rich & Famous. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Oh My God, That Britney's Shameless. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Extra, Extra, This Just In. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. She's Too Big, Now She's Too Thin. (You want a piece of me?) Oh yeah. Oh yeah. I'm Miss American Dream since I was 17. Don't matter if I step on the scene or sneak away to the Philippines, they still gon' put pictures of my derrière in the magazine. You want a piece of me? You want a piece, piece of me? You want a piece of me? I'm Mrs. Lifestyles Of The Rich & Famous. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Oh My God, That Britney's Shameless. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Extra, Extra, This Just In. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. She's Too Big, Now She's Too Thin. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Lifestyles Of The Rich & Famous. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Oh My God, That Britney's Shameless. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. Extra, Extra, This Just In. (You want a piece of me?) I'm Mrs. She's Too Big, Now She's Too Thin. (You want a piece of me?) Oh yeah. You want a piece of me? Oh yeah. Oh yeah.**

The entire room bursts into applause. I barely noticed, but during the song I made my way throughout room, dancing up and down the steps. It was actually kind of fun. I _do_ like performing. It's a rush, a good kind of feeling.

Lord + Lady is ready for business.

**I hope you guys are having a great month! I'll try to write again soon. **

**xo, Chantal**


	14. A picture is worth a thousand words

**I am a bad, bad person. I'm just stressed with school recently + been thinking about if I really want to stay here in London for the next two years or not . . . I really haven't been in the mood to write as of recently. I guess I can chalk it up to homesickness + injury, but still. I feel bad. Here's a chapter for y'all.**

I wipe sweat from my brow and run a hand through my hair, exhausted. Sam and I are standing in an empty dance studio, rehearsing with our choreographer Kiki. We've been here since three o'clock and I am reaching the point of no return. Our first rehearsal with the back-up dancers is next week, and she wants us to be perfect by then. It's hard to believe our show is just a few weeks away. Everything is happening fast.

Sam drapes an arm over my shoulder and leans against me. Her body is warm. "Hey Kiki, can we have five minutes?" she asks, trying to control the strain in her voice; Kiki is a total slave driver. She hates breaks. I'm pretty sure she has yet to realize we are not professional performers.

"Alright," she sighs, retying her peroxide blonde ponytail. "You have five minutes, starting now." She sulks her way out to the hallway to call her boyfriend. It's what she always does when we ask for a minute to chill. It is hysterical. We listen in every now and then for a bit of a chuckle.

Sam waits for the door to close completely before collapsing to the floor. She's lying on the wood, hair disheveled and tank top soaked in sweat. I'm sure I look just as disgusting. I grab us two Vitamin Waters from the cooler and offer her one. She takes a sip and smiles.

"What?" I ask, self-conciously twisting the cap back and forth. When Sam smiles, something bad is about to happen.

"Nothing," she replies, slightly self-consciously herself. She adjusts the knee high white tube socks that she is wearing with her heels. _Seattle Beat_made her promise to wear heels. No clue why. It's in the contract, though, so she has faithfully been wearing them after school and during rehearsals.

I poke her in the side. "Come on, you know you want to tell me," I tease her. She shakes her hair so it falls around her face, trying to wipe the tiredness from her face. She slowly begins to braid a tiny section of the front of her hair, eyes downcast at the floor. She seems unwilling to share her feelings. Typical. She never wants to share anything anymore. Ever since the video leak, she's begun to slowly close back up. I had thought we were making progress, but I guess not.

"I feel like we're finally friends," she blurts out suddenly, startling me.

"What?" I ask, attempting to comprehend what she said. Friends is a tricky subject when it comes to Sam. She's just . . . not friendly. I mean, she has friends. But us as friends? I always considered us acquaintances.

Sam is still looking at the floor. "I mean, we've been through this whole Lord + Lady thing . . . all the rehearsals and the madness at school and the . . . oh, I don't know," she mutters, her cheeks reddening. She glances up and locks eyes with me for a second. The connection is electric. "We're like war buddies. We can make it through everything."

I smile at her. "I know what you mean," I reassure her. She punches me in the arm as Kiki walks back in, screeching something about taking the routine from the top, lyrics and all. As we take our opening positions, Sam digs her heel into my toe.

"Tell anyone we're friends and I'll kill you," she mutters as the opening notes play. I smile and wrap my arms around her waist.

"No problem, _friend_," I whisper back.

**I make them good girls go bad. I make them good girls go. Good girls go bad. I know your type (Your type). You're daddy's little girl. Just take a bite (One bite). Let me shake up your world. 'Cause just one night couldn't be so wrong. I'm gonna make you lose control. She was so shy till I drove her wild. _I make them good girls go bad. __I make them good girls go bad. __You were hanging in the corner with your five best friends. __You heard that I was trouble, __but you couldn't resist. __I make them good girls go bad. __I make them good girls go. __Good girls go bad. _**_I know your type __(Your type). Boy, you're dangerous. Yeah, you're that guy (That guy). I'd be stupid to trust. But just one night couldn't be so wrong. You make me wanna lose control. _**She was so shy till I drove her wild. _I make them good girls go bad. __I make them good girls go bad. __You were hanging in the corner with your five best friends. __You heard that I was trouble, __but you couldn't resist. __I make them good girls go bad. __I make them good girls go. __Good girls go bad. _Oh, she got away with the boys in the place. Treat 'em like they don't stand a chance. **_And he got away with the girls in the back. __Acting like they're too hot to dance. _**Oh, she got away with the boys in the place. Treat 'em like they don't stand a chance.**_And he got away with the girls in the back. __Acting like they're too hot to dance. **I make them good girls go bad ****(They don't stand a chance). ****I make them good girls go. ****The good girls go bad, yeah. ****Good girls go bad. **I was hanging in the corner with my five best friends. I thought that you were trouble, but I couldn't resist. _**I make them good girls go bad. ****I make them good girls go bad. ****I make them good girls go. ****Good girls go bad. ****Good girls go bad. ****Good girls go. **

Kiki stands with her hands on her hips as we finish. Sam and I are both out of breath again. "Not bad guys," she says. "Not good, but not awful either. See y'all tomorrow." Well, that was as much of a compliment as I think we'll ever get out of her. I'll take it. As Sam and I are packing up, I pull my digital camera out of my bag and pull Sam over.

"Smile," I say, holding the camera up to us in the mirror. She tries to not smile, but ends up laughing instead. "Give me that," she says, snatching it from my hands. She looks at it through the viewfinder. "You're lucky I look good," she warns, and then turns the camera on me. She starts chasing me around the room, acting like the crazed photographers that still try to come around school sometimes. After a while, I manage to get it back and turn on her. We're both doubled over in laughter, trying our best to get awful shots of the other. Flipping through them together, I feel as if maybe we are friends. I'm not sure if that's what I want.

I think I might want more.

**Thanks for being so patient, everyone. I honestly appriciate it. Read + review, s'il vous plait.**

**xo, Chantal**


	15. Fighting, driving, singing, and rapping

**Hiya guys! I hope y'all liked iOMG as much as I did :) A few people have PM'ed me and asked how it will affect my story. In short, it won't; in my magical FF world, iOMG has not happened. Plain and simple. So onwards to my story.**

"Hey Carlotta, can you grab me a Peppi-Cola?" I ask from where I'm sprawled across her couch. She sighs deeply but grabs one for me anyway. It seems like she sighs a lot more now than she used to. It's really not her fault; Carly and I have been so stressed because of our new bust schedules. We barely have time to eat every two hours, let alone breath deeply. Maybe she needs more oxygen to her brain. Does sighing even bring your brain oxygen? I have no clue.

"Here," she says, tossing it to me. I crack it open and take a sip before thanking her. She sits down next to me and turns off _Celebrities Underwater_, which I had been watching. I protest with a "HEY!" but she puts a hand up to me and holds out her phone. "What's this?" she asks. I take the phone from her and look at it. It's on Freddie's Splashface profile.

I shrug. "What about it? Have you suddenly had a change of heart and fallen for him?" I ask, taking another sip. She shakes her head and uses her finger to zoom in on who knows what. Carly has been acting a little odd as of recently.

"His new profile picture," she says flatly, holding it so close to my face that I can't even see it properly. "When did you two take it?" I take her phone from her hand to look at it closely. It's of him and me, taken after rehearsal a few days ago. We look pretty chummy actually; it was one of those accidental good shots we got when trying to get bad ones of each other. We both laughing and I'm clinging to his back, trying to grab the camera back from him.

"Oh. We took it after rehearsal last week," I say, giving it back to her. Her eyes widen.

"How are you so casual about this?" she asks, shaking her phone. "You're in his profile picture! You're never in anyone's profile picture. You're not even in your own! It's a picture of a ham!" She shrieking now, pacing the area between the coffee table and her flat screen TV. I still don't know why she's upset.

I lean my head back against the cushions and try to release the tension that is rising into my shoulders. "Listen, Carly, we were just goofing off after rehearsal. We took a bunch of pictures on _his_ camera, so I think _he_ has a right to use one of them as his profile picture if he _wants_ to," I say, emphasizing the fact that I honestly had nothing to do with this photo fiasco. Carly stops her pacing and turns to face me. She seems confused, maybe even upset.

"I feel like I'm losing you," she blurts out suddenly. I'm so shocked that I roll off of her couch. She's losing me? What the hell is she talking about? I spend plenty of time with her. Well, I had been busy with rehearsals and trying to catch up with school work. But I spend all of our iCarly prep time with her! Maybe I have been a little distant . . .

I get up to give Carly a hug, but it's awkward because I tower over her when I'm wearing my required heels. "Carly, you're never going to lose me," I reassure her. "I'm here now, aren't I?" The door swings open at that exact moment, and Freddie walks in.

"Hey guys, sorry to interrupt," he says breathlessly. "Sam, Oliver just called my house. He needs to meet with us - pronto." He starts texting someone on his phone and looks up a moment later. "Are you coming or what?" I glance between him and Carly.

"I'm really sorry," I say to her, bending down to pick up my bag. "I really wanted to chill with you this afternoon." Her eyes are angry, but she lets me walk out the door after Freddie before slamming it behind us. It's not until we're halfway to the lobby before Freddie says anything to me.

"So, are you guys fighting or something?" he asks as we step out of the elevator. I pick at the navy blue nail polish on my thumb. "Something like that," I mutter, taking an apple from the fruit bowl on Lewbert's desk and chucking it into his office. He screams something incomprehendable at me, and I respond with a loud "GO FUCK A DUCK!" Freddie holds the glass door open for me and I notice how tall he is as I walk past him. I mean, he's taller than me and I'm wearing my heels. When did he grow?

I pause on the sidewalk, causing a passing businessman to nearly trip over my feet. Freddie stares at me for a moment and arches one eyebrow. "Yes?" he asks, "Are you coming?"

"How are we getting to Oliver's office?" I ask, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. He shakes the car keys I didn't notice dangling from him hands. "I'm driving," he says nonchalantly, starting to walk off towards the Bushwell Plaza parking garage. I scurry to follow him.

"Since when do you drive?"

"I've had my license forever."

"I know that, idiot."

"So why'd you ask?"

"You mean to tell me your mom is cool with you driving me to a meeting with Oliver _without_ any adults in your car?" I ask him as I slide into the passenger seat. He smiles at me as he sticks the key into the ignition.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

I gleefully punch him in the shoulder and then turn on the radio. "I'm rubbing off on you, Benson," I tease playfully, turning up the volume as he winks at me. I love this song.

**Yes, it's so crazy right now. ****Most incredibly, it's ya girl, Bee. ****It's ya boy, young. ****You ready? ****Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no. ****Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no. ****Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no. ****Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no. ****Yeah, history in the making. ****Part two, it's so crazy right now. ****I look and stare so deep in your eyes. ****I touch on you more and more every time. ****When you leave I'm begging you not to go; ****call your name two or three times in a row. ****Such a funny thing for me to try to explain ****how I'm feeling and my pride is the one to blame. ****'Cause I know I don't understand ****just how your love; you're doing no one else can. Got me looking so crazy right now, your love's got me looking so crazy right now (In love). Got me looking so crazy right now, your touch got me looking so crazy right now (Your touch). Got me hoping you'll page me right now, your kiss got me hoping you'll save me right now. Looking so crazy in love's got me looking got me looking so crazy in love. ****Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no. ****Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no. ****Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no. ****Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no. When I talk to my friends so quietly. Who he think he is? Look at what you did to me. Tennis shoes, don't even need to buy a new dress. If you ain't there ain't nobody else to impress. The way that you know what I thought I knew. It's the beat that my heart skips when I'm with you. But I still don't understand just how the love your doing no one else can. Got me looking so crazy right now, your love's got me looking so crazy right now (In love). Got me looking so crazy right now, your touch got me looking so crazy right now (Your touch). Got me hoping you'll page me right now, your kiss got me hoping you'll save me right now. Looking so crazy in love's got me looking got me looking so crazy in love. Young Hov, y'all know when the flow is loco. Young B and the R O C, uh oh. Ol' G, big homie, the one and only stick bony but the pocket is fat like Tony Soprano (Oh no). The R O C handle like Van Axel. I shake phoneys man, you can't get next to the genuine article. I do not sing though. I sling though, if anything I bling yo. A star like Ringo, roll like green Corvette. Crazy bring ya whole set. Jay Z in the range, crazy and deranged, they can't figure them out they like, hey is he insane. Yes sir, I'm cut from a different cloth. My texture is the best fur, of chinchilla (Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no). Been dealing with chain smokers. But how you think I got the name Hova? (Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no) I been realer the game's over. (Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no) Fall back young. Ever since the label changed over (Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no). To platinum the game's been wrap, one. Got me looking, so crazy, my baby. I'm not myself, lately I'm foolish, I don't do this. I've been playing myself, baby I don't care. 'Cause your love's got the best of me. And baby you're making a fool of me. You got me sprung and I don't care who sees. 'Cause baby you got me, you got me. So crazy baby, hey. Got me looking so crazy right now (Oh love). Your love's got me looking so crazy right now (Lookin' crazy). Got me looking so crazy right now, your touch got me looking so crazy right now. Got me hoping you'll page me right now, your kiss (Baby). Got me hoping you'll save me right now (Baby). Looking so crazy in love's got me looking (Whoa). Got me looking so crazy in love (Whoa). Got me looking so crazy right now. Your love's got me looking so crazy right now (Your love). Got me looking so crazy right now, your touch got me looking so crazy right now (Your touch). Got me hoping you'll page me right now, your kiss got me hoping you'll save me right now. Looking so crazy in love's got me looking got me looking so crazy in love.**

It's only when the song ends that I realize Freddie and I have sung - even rapped - the entire song. I've found that when we're alone, it's what we do. It's our connection. It's kind of crazy, yes, but it's what's brought us together. And weird as it is, I wouldn't want it any other way.

******I apologize for how many words Beyonce/Jay-Z can sing and rap in under four minutes :) But I love the song and had to use it. Hope y'all liked it, please review for me!**

******xo, Chantal**


	16. Some ink on a piece of paper

**Hello lovelies.**

**I'm sorry there haven't been updates for . . . well, a while. School life is busy, and my education / training come first. I'll be back in the States in a few weeks, and I promise to get right back to updating then.**

**I feel like I wrote this same note last year. Oops.**

**xo, Chantal**


	17. Offers we can't refuse

**Honey, I'm home!**

**Literally. It's nice to be back in NYC, hanging out at my old favorite spots with some of my friends. I've already signed up for some dance classes for the summer :) But I know I promised you guys a chapter aysap, so here it is!**

"So, what do you think Oliver wants?" Sam asks, leaning against the glass elevator wall. She refuses to look out it as we climb to the twenty-third floor. I secretly think she's afraid pf heights and doesn't want to admit it, but I'm not one to push. I currently only have bruises from dance rehearsals and none from Sam.

I shrug. "All he said was to get down to his office as soon as possible because he had some 'groundbreakingly great news' and that's a quote," I reply as we stop on the seventeenth floor to pick up a nervous-looking man in an ill-fitting business suit. He stays in when we get off. As soon as the door closes, Sam smiles deviously. "I bet he's getting fired," she whispers as we walk down the hallway.

"Sam!" I mutter, smacking her arm before holding the door open for her. The _Seattle Beat_ receptionist nods at us before continuing to click and clack on her keyboard. I bet she's wearing fake nails. The sound is so artificial. Several people in their cubicals wave hello as we pass. The two of us have been in and out of these offices so many times the past few weeks that I've started to learn all of the employees' names.

Oliver is waiting outside his office, holding the door open with his back while whisper-shouting to to someone on his phone. He gestures for us to go inside. Unfortuently, both of our moms are there.

"FREDWARD BENSON! DID YOU DRIVE HERE?" cries my mom, noticing the car keys dangling from my hand. Sam rolls her eyes and flops down as I explain to my mom that yes, I did drive here. How else did she think we were going to get here?

Luckily, Oliver strides back in before she can start ranting again. "Hey guys, thanks for coming in on such short notice. I have some fantastic news for y'all," he says with a smile. "Guess what?"

Sam slouches in her chair some more. "If we could guess, would we be here?" she asks. Oliver chuckles.

"Good point," he says. "So guess who wants you guys to perform in the Friday morning concert series?"

"Who?" I ask. Life will move faster if I do.

"_Good Morning America_."

"What?" Sam shrieks. I don't think I've ever heard her shriek. "That's fantastic!" My mom raises her hand, and I try to cover my face. She is so embarassing sometimes. Wait, what am I saying? She's embarassing all of the time. I can't remember her ever not being embarassing.

"Doesn't _GMA_ film in New York?" she asks. Oliver then launches to the whole story. Not only does _GMA _want us to perform, but _No. 17 Records_ wants us to record a CD of all the songs we're doing in the concert and if all works out after the concert, they want to sign _Lord + Lady_ to their label. Plus, they want us to do a music video for one of the duets, to be premiered on _Seattle Beat_, of course.

"Yes, yes, and yes!" says Sam. "Oh my gosh, Freddie can you believe this?"

"No," I say. I'm still processing it all. This is a huge deal for us and it will be a bunch of great press for _iCarly_. "We should probably tell Carly."

"Why don't you go and tell her now?" suggests Oliver. "I'll go over everything with your moms and email you guys an intinerary as soon as the details are smoothed over." Sam and I leave the office. Neither of us say anything until we're outside of the office, and then Sam shrieks for the second time in one day. "This is so fantastic! We should head down to the club and tell everyone!" She throws her arms around me in a hug.

I stop on the sidewalk. "I thought we were going to tell Carly. That's why we left, isn't it?" Sam shifts back and forth in her heels.

"Right. Yeah. Let's go tell Carly - if she's talking to me, that is."

"Oh. Right, you two are sort of fighting."

"Yeah."

"Well, let's go tell the club and then we'll tell Carly.

"You're the best. Come on!" She starts off for the car and I follow her. But I can't help feeling as if we're doing the wrong thing.

**Sorry the chapter is so short. It's kind of a filler to just get you guys up to speed, which is why there is no song. I still hope you liked it!**

**xo, Chantal**


	18. What's there to complain about?

**I am so sorry for the month-long hiatus. Just a few days after I wrote the last chapter, I got a phone call that I got into this summer program in Russia, something I absolutely could not pass up on. But I'm back now and I swear, I'm going to be better at updating.**

I knock on Freddie's door impaitently. He called me twenty minutes ago, saying there was something extremely important that we needed to talk about as soon as possible. So of course, I dropped everything and ran over. But now that I'm standing here, I'm wondering why; I never used to drop anything for anyone except Carly. Speaking of which, we haven't talked in two days. She's still mad at me. I think it's stupid. It's not my fault that she and I haven't had a lot of time to hang out. Okay, well, it kind of is. But still!

The door swings open, revealing Freddie with freshly washed hair and a damp towl in hand. "Hey, come on in," he says slowly. "I'm almost ready to go."

"Go where?" I ask, sliding past him towards his kitchen. I open and close a few cabinets. No good food. I try the fridge. Nope. What do they eat in this house?

Freddie smiles at me. "Out," is his only reply. He scans up and down my outfit, making me feel slightly self-concious. I look at my outfit myself: high-waisted denim shorts, pink and black button down, my black heels. "Your outfit will do," Freddie adds, ducking back into his room. What? He returns a moment later, car keys in hand. "Let's go," he says.

"Go where?" I ask again, slightly angry now. I get the same stupid answer.

"Out."

We make it to the Bushwell parking garage in record time and are out on the highway in no time. Freddie puts the radio on. I flick it off. "Hey!" he protests, turning to look at me. I punch him in the arm. "Eyes on the road, idiot. I don't want to die," I mutter. "Now can I know where we're going or not?"

"Not." I punch him again and stare out the window. We're approaching Merkinson Beach. I remember coming here every summer with Melanie and my mom when we were little. We turn down a dirt road and head towards a really big stone mansion. I can hear music pumping. A big guy in a tight black shirt with a clip board stops us outside the driveway. Freddie rolls down the window.

"Name?" the guy asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Freddie Benson and Sam Puckett," Freddie says. The guard scans the list and presses a button on his remote. The gate swings open. "Enjoy your evening," the guys says. Freddie pulls along the driveway and parks. This place is huge! I can see the ocean here, even from the driveway and I smell meat. Pork, to be precise.

"Can I know where we are now, considering we're _here_?" I say, leaning against the trunk of the car. Freddie smirks.

"I guess."

"Well?"

"Oliver invited us to his beach barbeque."

"And you couldn't tell me that before?"

"It ruins all the fun."

"You loser!" I say, smacking him as we walk together towards the house. A housekeeper directs us towards the patio, where a bunch of people are milling around with shmancy-looking drinks in their hands. Oliver waves to us from his spot at the grill. He's dressed down more than I'm used to. He usually is in a suit, but today he's wearing a polo and shorts. It's weird.

"Hey you two!" he says, giving us each a hug. "Glad you could make it."

"We wouldn't miss it for the world," Freddie says. Oliver laughs. He leads us around, introducing us to different important people. I snatch a few snacks from a waiter who's coming around with grilled kabobs and ginger ale in shot glasses. Time passes quickly. Around nine o'clock, a deejay shows up and starts spinning tracks as dinner is served. We sit down at a table on the patio along with the few other teenagers that are here.

Freddie stands up. "I'm going to go to the bathroom, okay?" he says to me. I look at him. "You don't need my permission to pee," I say. Everyone else laughs and Freddie stalks away. One of the guys, Tim, slides over to sit next to me. He's sitting rather close, actually. It's making me uncomfortable.

"So, you're a singer now?" he whispers in my ear. "What happened to the whole comdey thing?"

"I still do that, too," I say, scooting a little bit further away. He moves closer and keeps asking questions. I'm getting worried. This guy is really creepy. Freddie reappears, and I jump up and wrap my arms around him.

"I missed you so much!" I say loudly, and then dig my heel into his foot. "Just go with it," I mutter softly, so that creepy Tim can't hear. Tim stands up, and I shrink into Freddie. He wraps an arm around my waist, thank goodness.

"Wait. You two are together?" he asks incrediously. He doesn't seem convinced.

"Yeah, I love me my Freddie bear," I say softly. Freddie suddenly plants a kiss on my cheek, catching me off-guard. I wasn't expecting that. He takes my hand. "Come on, Sam," he says, "Let's go take a walk." He leads me through the crowd, towards the beach. When we're away from everyone, he drops my hand.

I clasp a hand over my heart. "Thank you so much," I say. "That guy was really freaking me out."

"No problem." We stand there awkwardly for a minute, until I slip my shoes off. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"We said we were going for a walk. Let's walk." We start down the beach a bit. The party seems far away, like another world. I can hear the opening lines of my favorite song du jour playing.

"I love this song!" Freddie and I exclaim at the same time. We look at each other and start to laugh.

**Woke up in London yesterday, ****found myself in the city near Piccadilly. ****Don't really know how I got here. ****I got some pictures on my phone; ****new names and numbers that I don't know, ****address to places like Abbey Road. ****Day turns to night, night turns to whatever we want. ****We're young enough to say: ****oh this has gotta be the good life. ****This has gotta be the good life. ****This could really be a good life, good life. ****Say oh, got this feeling that you can't fight, ****like this city is on fire tonight. ****This could really be a good life. ****A good, good life.**

This song makes me feel so happy and free. It's really young and fresh. I dip my toes in the water. It's not that cold. In fact, it's really warm.

**To my friends in New York, I say hello. ****My friends in L.A. they don't know ****where I've been for the past few years or so - ****Paris to China to Colorado. ****Sometimes there's airplanes I can't jump out. ****Sometimes there's bullshit that don't work now. ****We are god of stories, but please tell me ****what there is to complain about? When you're happy like a fool, let it take you over. When everything is out, you gotta take it in.**

I grab Freddie's hand. "Come on," I say, tugging on it.

"What?" he asks.

"Let's go swimming!"

"Now?"

"No, in a week. Yes, NOW!" I say, pushing him so he falls in the water fully clothed. He resurfaces, but he's smiling.

"Oh, it is _so_ on, Puckett!" he shouts, splashing me with the water. I chase after him, kicking and splashing as I go.

**Hopelessly, ****I feel like there might be something that I'll miss. ****Hopelessly, ****I feel like the window closes oh so quick. ****Hopelessly, ****I'm taking a mental picture of you now. ****'Cause hopelessly, ****the hope is we have so much to feel good about. O****h this has gotta be the good life. ****This has gotta be the good life. ****This could really be a good life, good life. ****Say oh, got this feeling that you can't fight, ****like this city is on fire tonight. ****This could really be a good life. ****A good, good life. my friends in New York, I say hello. ****My friends in L.A. they don't know ****where I've been for the past few years or so - ****Paris to China to Colorado. ****Sometimes there's airplanes I can't jump out. ****Sometimes there's bullshit that don't work now. ****We are god of stories, but please tell me ****what there is to complain about?**

As the song ends, I ponder the question it asks. Life is good right now. I can't really complain.

**I hope you liked this chapter! I felt bad about my lack of updates, so I made it really long :)**

**xo, Chantal**


	19. Lost and sorry

**Hi again guys.**

**Clearly, this isn't a chapter.**

**I've totally lost my inspiration for this story. I don't know where to go with it, what I want to do with it, etc.**

**So I'm going to take a break. I don't know how long it's going to be or if I'm even going to finish it.**

**Sorry.**

**xo, Chantal**


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